


Turn Around, Lie Down, (Come Home)

by AsheRhyder



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pack Bonding, Werewolf Hanzo Shimada, Werewolf Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/pseuds/AsheRhyder
Summary: In the dark, snow-filled night, a wolf howled.Run with me.Eat with me.Sleep beside me.Be pack.





	1. The Black Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WereKem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WereKem/gifts).



> There is hunting in this story, done by werewolves in their wolf form for food. It's not graphically described (it's mostly implied), but is noted here for people who have issues with harm to animals.

To say Hanzo was uncomfortable was an understatement of the highest degree. Wet socks were “uncomfortable”. Conversations with relatives about the lack of marriage or children were “uncomfortable”. A sucking bullet wound was “uncomfortable”. 

Sitting across from the doctor who saved his brother’s life was surely some creative manifestation of Hell. The only consolation to his suffering was that Angela appeared to be just as unhappy as he was. She shuffled through the patchwork of Hanzo’s medical history, putting together the data necessary for his file as an Overwatch agent, wearing the tight, stoic look of someone who was regretting taking the Hippocratic Oath. Hanzo stared at the wall off to the side, waiting for her to finish her tests and reach the inevitable conclusion. 

The silence, already tense, reached a palpable hitch. 

“Your test results show you as a positive for lycanthropy,” she said. “Genji has never tested positive.” 

“I was infected shortly after--” Hanzo stopped, then shook his head. “It is a recent development. The Shimada are not carriers naturally. You do not need to worry about further infections, either. I had it treated as soon as I realized.” 

“But the disease has already expressed?” She raised an eyebrow. He flushed. “You have a lunar transformation?” 

“The situation is handled,” he said with the shortness of one who did not feel the need to give further details. 

“How?” she replied with the bluntness of someone well used to getting answers out of the kind of people who eschewed details. Hanzo, to his credit, held out nearly half a minute before he surrendered and pulled a bottle out of a pouch on his belt. Angela read the label, and her eyes widened. She plucked the bottle out of his hands, re-read it, and then stared at him in horror. 

“These are animal tranquilizers.” 

“Fortuitous; I take them when I become an animal,” Hanzo replied dryly. “Four or five usually do the trick.” 

“ _ Four or five _ ?!” 

“I can manage with only three if I have exhausted myself prior, but any fewer and the beast remains mobile.” He shrugged. Angela met his calm with icy fortitude. Doctoral fury poured through her like a wildfire, surmounting even the reservations she had about Genji bringing his brother into the fold. 

“Fortunately, such measures will not be necessary during your time here,” she said crisply, whisking the pills away to a secure cabinet. 

“Of course. Such facilities as this would have containment cells…” Hanzo frowned as she shook her head. 

“While we do have cells, they are not qualified to contain a transformed lycanthrope for more than a few hours at most,” she said. “No, one of our early members came from a family of carriers. Though he never expressed, he donated the family’s hunting lands to Overwatch rather than let them fall into disuse.” 

Now it was Hanzo’s turn to stare in disbelief. 

“You do not mean to simply turn me loose in the wild?” 

“The property is well-secured,” she said. “In all the years we used it before, there was never an issue, and there were a number who were on the lunar cycle within the ranks.” 

Hanzo made a complicated expression frequently found on the face of someone who was trying and failing to hide his displeasure with a suggestion and couldn’t manage to articulate his objection. 

“There is no need to make an effort on my account,” he said. “The sedatives--” 

“Absolutely not,” interrupted Angela. “I do not trust this supplier, and you cannot be trusted with the dosage, and even if those were not concerns, there is still the matter of drug resistance. You’ve probably built up quite the tolerance already. As a medical professional, I must forbid your so-called self-medicating and prescribe some healthful fresh air!” 

Hanzo recognized a conversational dead-end when he saw one, so he nodded and took down the details of where to be and when. 

That night he broke into the medical office and was halfway through cracking the lock on the secured storage when Genji caught him. 

“Angela told me she confiscated something from you, but she would not say what.” Genji’s disapproving tone was made all the worse with pity. “Brother, what happened?” 

“Nothing,” said Hanzo stubbornly, finishing his hack and reaching for his tranquilizers. Genji was faster, however, and he grabbed the bottle before Hanzo could. 

“Oh,  _ Hanzo _ ,” he said, reading the label. 

“I have it under control!” Hanzo snapped and snatched it back. 

“Drugging yourself into unconsciousness is the exact opposite of control!” Genji snapped back. “Didn’t Angela tell you about the Black Forest Retreat?” 

“Turned loose in the woods as a wild animal? I will take my chances with the tranquilizers.” 

“I did not ask you here to watch you poison yourself to death!” 

‘You did not ask for a wolf at all.” Hanzo made one last swipe for the bottle, but Genji was faster than him now. “Fortune has made a mockery of us both, and I will not leave anything to chance. I may become a beast, but I refuse to let it free.” 

“It’s not like they taught us,” Genji said. “There is no shame in becoming a wolf. Besides… it will be nice for McCree to have company during the full moon.” 

Hanzo’s despair melted into confusion. 

“Who is McCree?” 

 

McCree was, apparently, a caricature of a cowboy, all wrapped up in sunset and fresh off a three-week mision when Hanzo met him in front of the shuttle to Germany. Despite Genji’s assurances that yes, McCree knew who Hanzo was and what he had done, McCree’s entire contribution to the conversation was no more than a polite “hey there” followed by a nap that spanned the rest of their journey. 

Reinhardt, the carrier who donated the land, just chuckled as McCree settled deep into his serape. 

“Poor boy tuckered himself out this time,” he said in the softest tone Hanzo ever heard from him. “He used to get so excited when it was time for the retreat.” 

“Was he born with it?” Hanzo asked, watching the man sleep. 

“He had it when he came to the ‘watch, but whether he was born to it or infected young, he never said.” Reinhardt shrugged. Hanzo stared harder, but the man gave away nothing in his sleep. The only things he could determine about him were the same as most people in their profession: that he used a weapon with enough skill and frequency for it to wear calluses on him, and that he stole sleep wherever he could, and never as deeply as it appeared.

As soon as the dropship moved into position to begin landing, McCree sat up, stretched, and started stripping. Hanzo’s eyebrows hiked towards his hairline. 

“If’n you’re attached to your duds, best to shuck ‘em now,” said McCree without looking up. “No point in waiting ‘til the last minute. That’s just inviting a popped seam.” 

Hanzo found himself flushing even as he unwound his sash and slipped out of his gi. 

“You speak as the voice of experience,” he said. A smile slid like a sidewinder across McCree’s face and vanished just as quickly. 

“You could say that. I heard you tranq’d yourself out of your changes so far, so lemme give you a few words of advice: one, baggy clothing is just as bad as constricting; like nets, loose enough to tangle, tight enough to strangle. Two, keep your clothes somewhere safe. Chances are you’ll still be able to smell yourself on them and you’ll come back to them thinking it’s ‘home’. Best do that somewhere dry and comfy. Three… well, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” 

Hanzo didn’t want to get the hang of it, but the sun was setting, and the change burned under his skin. 

“Enjoy the forest!” Reinhardt called after them as he opened the door. “It has been too long since we had wolves in the woods. Someone should bring those deer back under control.” He winked, and McCree waved as he wandered out into the forest. 

Hanzo, left with the choice of the woods or Reinhardt’s company, headed in the opposite direction. He hoped he would not come to regret not trying harder to get new tranquilizers. 

 

_ The black wolf woke up, which was a confusing novelty for him. Ever since he took shape, he had been sick. His senses, clouded; his limbs, heavy; it had taken every ounce of his strength to survive some nights. Waking up with a clear head and fire in his blood was a treat. _

__ _ There were so many new scents. Clean grass. Trees. The wind. Beneath it all, the faded scents of packs long gone. There was prey in the forest, things he could hunt and feed to a belly that had never been filled. There was something else, too.  _

__ _ Not prey.  _

__ _ Another wolf.  _

 

__ _ The howl echoed through the forest, low and longing.  _

 

__ **_Home,_ ** _ it cried.  _ **_No home. No pack. Alone. Lonely. Lonely. Lonely._ **

 

__ _ Had the black wolf the eloquence of his human counterpart, he still would not have the words to explain just how deeply the song tugged at him. It drew him through the forest long after it faded, until he found himself in a clearing with a massive red wolf.  _

__ _ The red was taller by at least two hands at the shoulder, broader in the chest, and utterly relaxed in front of its kill despite the black’s arrival. Perhaps it was the size advantage, or perhaps it could tell that the newcomer was still unaccustomed to the freedom of his body. Either way, the red did nothing more than twitch his tail as the black crept closer.  _

__ _ Something in the black balked. Was he being baited? Taunted? Why did the red not react? He had food, why did he not eat? _

__ _ The black bared his teeth. The red huffed.  _

__ _ The black inched forward. The red’s ear twitched.  _

__ _ The black growled and tensed to pounce. The red stood up. He  _ **_towered_ ** _ over the black, a living wall of fur, fang, and claw. One leg glinted metal, which was all the black got to see before the red  _ **_moved_ ** _ and suddenly pinned him. The black yelped and scrabbled at the ground, trying to claw his way free, but the red had him outweighed and was more familiar with his body. There was a low growl, so deep it was barely more than a ripple through his chest. It didn’t deter the black wolf; he was as stubborn as his human self and just as fierce. He refused to submit.  _

__ _ Surprisingly, the red did not demand it. Instead, he stood up and settled back on the other side of his kill. He ate quietly, almost wearily. He let the black wolf get to his feet. The black gave him a wary look, then ran into the forest, unwilling to approach again.  _

 

__ _ The red wolf’s lonely howls echoed through the forest for the rest of the night.  _

 

__ “How did you enjoy the retreat?” asked Reinhardt earnestly, handing Hanzo a bowl of porridge the size of a serving bowl. Hanzo was too hungry for manners and began shovelling hot oats into his mouth. Fortunately, Reinhardt was fluent in werewolf and understood answers without words. “Don’t worry, my friend. It takes practice to become a great hunter. Even McCree--” 

McCree looked up from his own meal with a flinty glare. 

“Even I what, old timer?” he said. His lips quirked into a smile, however, and it took the bite off his words like a pup nipping at an elder. 

“Even you had to start somewhere,” Reinhardt went on, biting back without teeth. It was a pack feel, old and strong, but Hanzo didn’t quite have the words to understand it yet, nor the peace of mind to endure it. He focused on his meal and convinced himself the aching emptiness he felt was just hunger. 

 

_ The next night, the red wolf’s mournful howling echoed through the forest. The trees did little to dampen the cries; they were too desperate, too loud. The black wolf ended up slinking around the perimeter of the retreat, searching for an escape. He did not want to be stuck in another wolf’s territory, no matter how much it sounded like the red wished for a companion.  _

__ _ There were no exits the black wolf could find. The walls were high, and the gates were electronically controlled. There were no gaps large enough for a creature his size to pass through. He was trapped in another wolf’s territory, and he’d already lost a fight against it once. That boded poorly for his survival.  _

__ _ Then again, there was still that lonely howl… almost like someone calling for their family to come home…  _

__ _ It could not possibly be for the black wolf, who had really only had two days of consciousness… could it? _

 

__ Sunrise came before the black wolf made it back to the scent of safety, and Hanzo found himself trekking through the woods without clothes. It was not the most pleasant of trips, but at least the weather was mild enough. 

He walked for about ten minutes before the distant sounds of heavy footsteps caught him. He looked to a nearby tree and debated climbing it; he had no weapons, and it would be uncomfortable as hell, but it would get him off the ground and out of sight… 

“Hanzo!” Reinhardt called cheerfully. “Are you there? Strange, I thought for sure he would be in this area…” 

Hanzo stepped towards Reinhardt just to get the man to stop bellowing his name across the hills. 

“Here,” he grunted. 

“Ah, there you are!” Reinhardt crashed over to him and held out his gear. “I saw you on the perimeter cameras and knew you would not make it back by dawn. Come, it is a long way to walk barefoot!” 

Hanzo struggled into his clothes and tried to ignore the steady stream of chatter from the older man as they returned to the ship, but something about the Crusader’s voice made it impossible to ignore, and it wasn’t merely the volume. 

“There are cameras at the perimeter,but most of the interior is unmonitored,” said Reinhardt.

“Mm,” replied Hanzo. 

“Fortunately, I am very experienced at tracking wolves.” 

“Hn.” 

“Even very clever ones, such as yourself and McCree! Now there was a pup who did not want to come in from the snow.” 

“Mm.” 

“Nearly froze his toes off when he changed back, too.” 

“Ah.” 

“He is much better about these things now. He barely has left camp except to hunt, and he usually tries to drag his catches back.” 

“Hn.” 

“How as your hunting been?” 

Hanzo’s empty stomach answered for him with a loud, unhappy gurgle. Reinhardt was gracious enough to steer the conversation away from food. By the time they reached the ship, Hanzo’s stomach was contributing nearly as much to the dialogue as Reinhardt was. 

McCree laid waiting for them, human and fully dressed, the only sign of his night’s activities being the bone jutting between his teeth in place of his usual cigar.

“He did not eat the whole night, poor boy.” Reinhardt sighed quietly to Hanzo. “I had to butcher his kill and cook it for breakfast before it went bad.” Hanzo’s stomach provided another conveniently timed growl, and McCree’s head snapped up at the sound. He stared through the entirety of Hanzo’s meal. He only looked away when Hanzo looked back, turning so quickly that his neck audibly cracked. 

Hanzo debated offering him some of the meal, but McCree’s eyes were never on the bowl. They stayed riveted to the back of Hanzo’s neck. 

He ate quickly and avoided McCree the rest of the day. 

It wasn’t hard. 

Not at all. 

 

_ The black wolf found himself once more in that same stretch of forest listening to the heartsick howl of the red wolf. It was a beseeching call, and the longer it went on, the weaker it got. The black wolf ended up trotting back to the clearing where he found a giant human who smelled faintly of wolves leaning over the red wolf. The red laid on its side, firmly ignoring the human, who tried in vain to get him to eat.  _

__ “Come now, come now, don’t be like that. You will be ravenous by dawn, and I don’t want you taking ill because you didn’t eat enough tonight.” 

_ The red wolf whined and turned away.  _

__ _ Was it sick? There was no scent of illness.  _

__ _ Was it weak? If so, perhaps the black could take the territory…  _

__ _ The black wolf padded forward, silent death in the darkness.  _

__ _ At least, that was his intent.  _

__ _ As soon as he entered the clearing, the red wolf perked up, tail wagging.  _

__ _ The black wolf froze.  _

__ “What are you-- ah…”  _ The human turned, noticed the black, and sighed.  _ “So that is what this is about.”

_ Some quiet, sleepy part of the black wolf’s mind stirred.  _

__ _ What was it? Why was this red wolf so excited to see him, a competitor?  _

__ _ Unless…  _ **_The lonely howl echoed through his memories._ **

__ _ Unless the red didn’t see him as a competitor at all, but rather as a potential addition to their makeshift pack.  _

__ **_Home. No home. No pack. Alone. Lonely. Lonely. Lonely._ **

**** _ The red wolf whined again, softer this time, and the wagging of his tail slowed to a sullen flick before going still all together. When the black wolf refused to move, the red settled his head back on his paws and gave a bone-weary sigh.  _

__ “You can’t force him to be your pack just because you’re the only wolves in the area,” _ the human chided. _ “I do not care what Genji asked you. He doesn’t understand what he asks. You need to give him time to adjust. Stop being immature.” 

_ The red huffed.  _

“I know you’re smarter than that. You must be patient.” 

_ Another whine. _

“You just worry about your own hide. Eat something, please. You hardly ate all day, either!” 

__ _ No reply but the sound of the red wolf’s labored breathing.  _

__ _ The black wolf took another few steps into the clearing.  _

__ _ No response.  _

__ _ A few more steps.  _

__ _ The red wolf’s tail flicked, but nothing more.  _

__ _ The human raised an eyebrow, watching them both.  _

__ _ The black cautiously moved side to side, wary, looking for any reaction. Anything at all. The red didn’t even blink.  _

__ _ The black darted forward, snatching up the meat the human had been trying to get the red to eat. The human didn’t even flinch. Red wagged its tail. Black gulped down its prize; Red climbed to its feet. Black started to shy away, but Red picked up another chunk of meat and tossed it to Black. Black hesitated, then snapped that up, too. Red ate a piece (to the human’s noticeable relief), then tossed another.  _

__ _ Eventually, they ate all the meat, and the red wolf settled back down. The black wolf paced a little, then turned around a few times and settled down too, lulled to sleep by a full belly and the warm fire.  _

 

Hanzo woke up at dawn to the feeling of eyes on him. Though Reinhardt sleepily shuffled around the camp to prepare a breakfast fit for humans, the attention came from the nearly motionless body across the campfire. McCree’s eyes were open, his face unreadable, his body curled against the morning chill. He said nothing about Hanzo’s presence at the ship --a place he’d avoided steadfastly before-- and Hanzo offered no explanation in return. 

When breakfast arrived, they ate without speaking to each other, without looking at each other. The truce between the two wolves did not extend to the two men; the entire trip back to Gibraltar was more of the same. No talking. No looking at each other, at least not at the same time. Hanzo fled the ship as soon as it landed, deaf to the soft inhalation that McCree made in preparation to say something just a moment too late. 

 

Genji caught up to him in the kitchen, finding Hanzo halfway into the pantry trying to assemble a sandwich. 

“How did you find the Black Forest?” he asked. 

“With a GPS,” muttered Hanzo.

“I meant did you enjoy it?” Genji said, debating whether to be annoyed or pleased that his brother felt comfortable enough to banter. Hanzo took the beginnings of his sandwich and raided the fridge for meats. 

“What was there to enjoy?” He scoffed. “There were trees. There was some grass. There was wildlife. Presumably, there is less of it now.” 

“I don’t know, maybe the fresh air and not drugging yourself into unconsciousness for three consecutive nights?” 

Hanzo made a wordless noise that still somehow conveyed a clear message of “shows what you know”. He sat down at the table and mechanically began eating, staring at the wall instead of at Genji. 

“Did you and McCree get along?” 

“We did not speak.” 

“What? Not at all?” Genji frowned. “I know you make quite the first impression, brother, but you were out there for three whole days!” 

“He gave me some advice about my clothes and said nothing to me for the remainder of the trip.” 

“That’s odd. He’s usually so friendly...” 

“I am sure there are ample reasons why  _ your _ friend had little to say to  _ me _ .” 

“I already spoke with him and explained.” Distress crept into Genji’s voice. “He was supposed to be on his best behavior.” 

“His behavior is perfectly acceptable.” Hanzo picked up some crumbs from his sandwich, frowned, and swept them into the trash. “All things considering, silence is perhaps the kindest treatment I can expect.” 

“I will speak to him again--” 

“Do not bother.” He cleared the table of all evidence of his presence. “It is unnecessary.” 

“Unnecessary?” Genji fixed him with a look as sharp as his blade. 

“I came to make amends, not friends.” Hanzo endured thirty seconds of Genji’s relentless stare before Genji finally turned away. 

“I see.” 

Hanzo was too proud to run, but he could make excuses with the best of them, and he excused himself to go catch up on the training he missed during the retreat. Genji let him go, thinking he would catch up with his brother later. 

He should have known better. 

 

Hanzo threw himself into training like it was the only thing keeping his heart beating, and he moved from training to missions with no less ferocity. In some ways it was even worse than his exile; his purposeless wandering had been futile, but at least then he only had to outrun the guilt. The longing for some kind of redemption lit a fire under his heels that threatened to turn his soul to ash if he did not prove himself worthy of the chance Genji offered him. He could barely sleep without feeling it licking at him, threatening to burn him up while he dreamed. 

All too soon, a month passed and Reinhardt was at his door to collect him for the retreat. Hanzo resigned himself to another three nights of waking up lost in the woods, naked, cold, and hungry, and trudged after him. 

McCree looked up when they approached. Hanzo could see his brow furrow below the brim of his hat. 

“Burning the candle at both ends?” McCree asked. Hanzo startled to realize it was addressed to him. 

“What?” 

“You look like crap.” 

Hanzo, despite his best intentions, bristled. 

“So?” 

McCree shrugged, holding up his empty hands peaceably. Hanzo turned away and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the ORCA window. While he normally took perfunctory care of his appearance, it was all with a carefully unfocused gaze so he never had to look at his reflection too closely. Now he could see the hollowness to his cheeks, the shadows under his eyes, the almost ashen tone to his skin. He turned away; it did not matter what he looked like so long as he did his job. 

He settled into a corner seat and let his head rest against the frame of the safety harness. Something rustled out of his view. Tension laced through him as footsteps approached. 

“Here,” said McCree, appearing on the edge of his vision and holding out a ration bar. 

“I am not hungry.” Hanzo meant to look away, but there was precious little else to hold his attention. 

“You will be when you change,” said McCree. “It’s best to do it on a full stomach if you can arrange it. Otherwise your wolf can get... ” He made an unsteady gesture with his free hand by his head. Hanzo stared dubiously at the bar. McCree tossed it onto Hanzo’s lap and went to sit down on the other side of the ship. 

Opening the package silently was impossible. No amount of stealth training could defeat plastic wrapping. Hanzo glanced up and caught the hint of a smile under the brim of McCree’s hat, but it disappeared almost immediately when observed. 

Hanzo ate. 

It wasn’t enough. 

 

_ The black wolf woke, starving and weak. Everything hurt. The hunger gnawed at his insides, hollowing him out of the will to rise and conquer it. He would have eaten anything that came close enough for him to bite. Nothing did.  _

__ _ Something whined and nudged at his back. He didn’t have the energy to turn and see.  _

__ _ The red wolf padded around and nosed at the black, who was too tired to give fight. He managed to sigh and tilt his head back a little. If the red wanted to fight, there was nothing the black could do about it. But the red only whined, rubbing against him briefly before disappearing. The black wolf closed his eyes and wished for sleep. Wished for death. Anything except the paralysis of his starved and exhausted body.  _

__ _ He smelled blood. Fresh blood, and warm meat. There was enough strength in him to pant, to drool and whine. He wondered what brought such a scent. Then the red wolf came back carrying a fat rabbit, and the black didn’t have to wonder at all.  _

__ _ The red dropped the rabbit directly in front of the black’s muzzle and, without even taking a single bite, tried to nudge the kill into the black’s open mouth. The first bite invigorated the black; and soon he had consumed the entire rabbit. The red trotted off and came back with another, which it also deposited in front of the hungry black.  This time he watched, and once the black felt strong enough to get to his feet, the red gave him a playful shoulder thump.  _

__ _ The black remembered a fireside rest, and the food, and he wondered about the strange red wolf, but not for long. Humans made things infinitely more complicated, but the wolf knew an invitation when he saw it.  _

__ **_Run with me._ **

**** **_Eat with me._ **

**** **_Sleep beside me._ **

**** **_Be pack._ **

 

Hanzo woke up warm and full, feeling more rested than he had in longer than he could remember. He laid on something solid with just enough softness to be comfortable, and whatever it was, it snored softly. He felt safe. 

That alone was cause for concern. 

 

His “pillow” reacted as he tensed up. It gave a long, low sigh and reached up clumsily to stroke his hair. Hanzo tore himself away from the warmth and whirled into a defensive stance, only to find himself face to sleepy face with McCree. McCree’s eyes were barely more than slits set with jet. They did not focus on Hanzo, though they seemed to register his presence and track motion. Hanzo held still, and eventually those eyes closed again. Hanzo quickly and silently retreated to the other side of a banked fire he did not remember seeing before. No judgement came. No reaction. 

Hanzo fell back to sleep, but it wasn’t restful. He was cold and far too aware of the empty space at his back. McCree said nothing of their early morning separation, if he even remembered it at all. Hanzo had his doubts; McCree played his cards close to his chest, but he didn’t seem to bother with much of a poker face. That was fine by Hanzo, who spent the day definitely  _ not _ studying the gunslinger. 

It was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Perfectly fine. 

 

_ The black wolf and the red met again by moonlight, and where their human counterpoints were taciturn and unbending, the wolves were overjoyed to encounter each other. They hunted together for the first time, bringing down a hart between the two of them. They gorged on the meat until they could eat no more.  _

__ _ The human who tended the fire laughed as they dragged him over for his portion; the black held him in place while the red brought over chunks and chunks of prey.  _

 

Hanzo woke again to warmth and comfort and McCree’s arm wrapped around his waist. He quickly extracted himself and moved away. McCree’s dark eyes followed. 

Those eyes haunted him. He wanted to warn their owner: don’t come closer. Don’t watch me. Don’t touch. 

He said nothing. Speaking of it would only make it real, transform it from some kind of hazy dream to a weird reality. He didn’t know how to handle that. He didn’t know how to handle any of this. 

So he didn’t. 

 

_ The third night was another good night. The wolves made quick work of their prey, devoured their meal, and fed the awkward human who built fires for their makeshift den. They rolled with each other, gnawing at bones and nipping at each other, pouncing and simply playing, safe and happy. They tired themselves out before morning and settled in together in a tangle of long limbs and happy sighs.  _

 

Hanzo had a hard time extracting himself from that when he woke up. McCree’s eyes weren’t open, but his leg was caught between Hanzo’s, and he had a hand buried in Hanzo’s hair, sleepily combing out tangles and twigs from the night’s play. McCree didn’t go still when he realized Hanzo was awake, but he didn’t stop Hanzo from pulling away, either. When Hanzo settled down on the other side of the fire, McCree curled in on himself and did not rouse until Reinhardt brought him breakfast. 

 

It became a pattern for them, to live like that. For twenty five days they barely spoke to one another. Hanzo trained and went on missions and generally wore himself into the ground, using (or abusing) his assassin’s training to stay out of the paths of his teammates and the concerned faces McCree and Reinhardt developed as the month wore on. 

For the three days of the full moon, they retreated to the forest, and each time Hanzo came back in the blush of health, rejuvenated by the rest and care of his pack. 

 

Stubborn as all parties were, it may have stayed that way, were it not for the camper. 

 


	2. Genji

All it took to upset the balance was one stubborn camper from Uppsala, who ignored the signs and climbed the fences in search of the abandoned village at the heart of the Black Forest on a full moon night. Later, they would find out he ran an ‘urban’ exploration blog and had assumed there were no wolves left in the forest, but at the time he was just a stupid human, trespassing where he didn’t belong. 

The wolves scented him immediately; the only human that had any right to be in their territory was Reinhardt-- who they regarded as less of a human and more of an unfortunate pack member who could not take the proper shape. The intruder was nothing like that, just a human in the wrong place at the worst time. 

“You two best not be getting into any trouble,” Reinhardt mumbled when the wolves perked their ears and stood up. “At least not without me.” 

The black wolf growled a little, showing his teeth. Reinhardt rubbed behind his ears. 

“Here now, I thought you were full already? If you hunt more, you will have a stomach ache in the morning!” 

The red wolf’s hackles rose, and he moved forward. The black fell in step with him. Reinhardt sighed and grabbed the bundle of clothes so they wouldn’t be left behind. He threw McCree’s serape over his shoulders and crammed the cowboy hat on his head and raced after the wolves, counting on familiarity to compensate for having two fewer legs and an inability to track by scent. 

He arrived just as the wolves cornered the camper against the wall of an abandoned building. The man was unharmed, but neither Red or Black appeared pleased by his presence. Reinhardt sighed, and the wolves shifted to let him join their semi-circle. 

“What have we here?” Reinhardt mused, looking down at the terrified intruder. “There are signs and fences for a reason, you know. The woods are very dangerous at night.” 

The man jibbered an unintelligible response, too terrified for clarity. The red snorted, almost like a laugh, and the sound caused the human intruder to flinch. 

“Come now, do you understand me?” 

The stammer clarified to Swedish. Reinhardt’s brow furrowed, and he was suddenly grateful he’d learned the language so he could speak more easily to Torbjörn’s children and grandchildren on the holidays. Moonlight and shadow accentuated his damaged eye as he pondered the best way to calm their accidental guest. 

 

Neither wolf understood Swedish regardless of the form they took, but they were content to let Reinhardt handle the situation. He spoke patiently, lifted the man back to his feet, and escorted him off the property. That seemed the end of that. 

 

Within the week there was a viral meme about the blogger who claimed to have seen Odin on the Wild Hunt in Germany. The Wild Hunt meme, ironically, became wildly popular. The story itself was either regarded as a hoax, a delusion, or an elaborate internet joke, but Soldier: 76 glared at the blog post like the article had personally offended his sainted mother. 

“What is the point of having a secret lycanthrope haven if random assholes off the street can waltz right in?” he growled. “Now we’ve got idiots breaking in at all hours looking for myths.” 

“I can enhance the defenses,” Satya offered, but the old man was on a rant now, and it would take something stronger than mere logic to derail his momentum. 

“Why don’t we just stay on base until this whole mess blows over?” McCree proposed. Audacity accomplished what common sense did not, and all attention diverted to him. 

“I refuse to put anyone at risk,” Hanzo replied immediately, arms crossed and hackles raised. He looked more like a frightened house cat than any sort of wolf. 

“No one will be at risk,” McCree drawled. “Reinhardt’s been camping with us for near half a year, and he ain’t even had a scratch. Worst he’s had to deal with is the shedding.” 

“The others are not like him,” Hanzo protested. “The camper is proof of that.” 

“The camper we didn’t bite, you mean?”

“Is it because they are not carriers?” Reinhardt raised an eyebrow, and Hanzo flushed. 

“They are not big enough to crush a wolf skull in one hand.” 

“Look, all we do every month is eat a bunch of venison and nap until daybreak. Just toss some steak in the training room and have Athena shut the door if you’re so worried. We ain’t gonna be a problem. Even if we did bust out, we’re not contagious anymore.” 

“Unacceptable.” 

“You really think you’re more dangerous with fur than without?” McCree tipped his hat back. 

“I am in control of my actions now.” 

A light went off behind McCree’s eyes. 

“And you think you ain’t, otherwise.” 

“We could have hurt that man.” 

“Still could. Even easier, now, I just gotta pull the trigger.” McCree leaned back. “We could, and we didn’t, ‘cause we ain’t as bad as you seem to think we are.” Hanzo scoffed, and McCree leaned forward. “What kind of ass-backwards anti-lycanthrope propaganda have you been choking on, and how long are you gonna suck on it before you finally spit it out?” 

A deep crimson blush flooded Hanzo’s cheeks, and he looked to his teammates for help. 

“This is for your safety. Have you nothing to say?” 

There was an awkward silence from the other members of the team. 

“McCree is cleared for civilian cohabitation,” Jack said. “He only goes out to the Black Forest to have somewhere to stretch his legs without worrying about hunters. He hasn’t needed to be sequestered since he turned twenty-one.”

Hanzo reeled back. 

“I see.” His shoulders slumped slightly. 

“McCree is vouching for you,” said Lena, far too brightly for Hanzo’s liking. “If he thinks you’re safe, that’s good enough for me.” 

“I mean, he’s practically the most paranoid bastard I’ve ever met,” said Hana. “No offense--” 

“None taken.” 

“--but I don’t think he’d put the team in any danger by dumb optimism.”

“I know some real nice shifters,” Lúcio shrugged. “They get a lot of bad press, but they never hurt anybody. It’s just prejudice.” 

Hanzo found himself outflanked. He refused to look over at Genji, unable to stomach the look he imagined to be on his brother’s face. 

“I will respect the wishes of the team,” he said, though the words stuck in his throat like a bone. 

He said nothing for the rest of the meeting and vanished quickly once it adjourned. He retreated instead to his room. As time progressed, he carefully and quietly made preparations. It wasn’t hard; he had few possessions to protect beyond Storm Bow and his arrow-making equipment, and barracks by nature were designed to be defensible. Reinforced walls and bulletproof windows meant he had little to worry about as far as structure, but the thought of the wolf escaping continued to gnaw at his peace of mind. If only Mercy hadn’t disposed of the tranquilizers… 

Perhaps Ana’s sleep darts could do in a pinch. He could drug his own food if he couldn’t get the injector… 

 

He did not have time to complete his heist, however. A mission ran long, and he was deployed for nearly two weeks, arriving back on base just before the first night of the transformations. Hanzo immediately locked himself in his room with what limited supplies he’d managed to pull together, and when the moon rose, it found him waiting. 

Anxiety and resistance made the change painful and slow. On previous nights in the forest, it had sometimes happened so fast he had scarcely blinked before finding himself facing dawn again. Now he could feel every twist of muscle, every grinding shift of bone. His blood burned, and his heart beat so fast and so hard it seemed like it would batter itself to pulp against his ribs. He clawed at his skin as fur emerged. Thought clashed with instinct, and both of them warred with the deeper wells of self-loathing that flooded up from unimaginable depths. Even his first wretched transformation had not hurt so badly, though that may have been due to the tranquilizers. 

Hanzo bit down on a howl of pain, wished for oblivion, and told himself he had not yet earned it, all in the same breath. 

Then he heard the scratching at the door. That mournful howl from the forest warbled through the walls: 

**Where are you? Why aren’t you here?**

**Where did you go? I can’t reach you.**

**I’m alone, I’m lonely, I miss “we”.**

Hanzo wanted to tell McCree to leave, but his heart  _ ached _ for companionship, and his mouth was already a muzzle anyway. Even if he could speak, he doubted the red wolf would understand. 

Hanzo’s ears changed, and then he could pick up the soft voice on the other side of the wall trying to console the wolf. 

“Jesse, no,” said Angela. “He’s allowed to have his privacy if he wishes. Just because you two went out in the woods before doesn’t mean he has to spend every moon with you.” 

McCree answered with another lonesome howl: 

**Pack, pack, I can’t reach you.**

**I’m far from home and alone.**

**Please, please, please,**

**Come home, come home, come home.**

That was the worst part-- the repeated “please” rising in desperation, the dreadful, comforting certainty that “home” was something that could be found with another person, and that it was offered so openly. 

It was like the sound was scientifically tuned to hit the precise nerves that responded with pity and empathy. Hanzo found himself scratching at the other side of the door and echoing the howl as conscious control faded:  

**I can’t reach you.**

**I can’t find you.**

**Please, please, please,**

**I want to come home.**

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Angela sighed. “Athena, please use the emergency medical override on Agent Shimada’s door. This noise is going to keep us all up all night, not to mention whatever damage they will do to themselves trying to get through.” 

“I would recommend standing back,” Athena said, and then she opened the door. 

Immediately there was a blur of fur, black and red, as the two wolves lunged for each other. They tumbled together in a flurry of wagging tails. Red nuzzled Black, who returned the affections enthusiastically. They rolled over and over together, hundreds of pounds of apex predator reduced to the gleeful exuberance of puppies at play. 

Angela couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up as she watched the red wolf rub all over the side of the black wolf’s face and neck, leaving traces of rusty colored fur all over the darker ruff. The black gave her the closest thing to an affronted look a canine face could manage. 

“I beg your pardon,” she said, and Black huffed. 

 

It took a few minutes before the two wolves seemed willing to part, which seemed rather odd given how their human counterparts barely said three words to each other, but Red was only pleased to have found Black, and whatever distress Black had endured prior vanished under the comfort of his familiar companion. 

Eventually the playful nuzzling turned to nipping and whining, and Black shifted uneasily in the unfamiliar halls. Red stood up and started trotting towards the kitchen. 

“I suppose you two are hungry?” Angela murmured, mostly to herself, though the wolves looked over their shoulders with the most blatantly chastising look she’d ever seen. Not for the first time, she reconsidered the current theories of exactly how much human intelligence lycanthropes retained during their lunar transformations. “Well, at least let me call it down to the team so we don’t give anyone a fright.” 

Red huffed and sat back on his haunches, looking impatient. Black outpaced him a few steps, paused, and walked back to sit at his side. Angela took advantage of their good behavior and sent out a brief message. The instant she finished, they were up and off again. 

 

In anticipation of the wolves’ first evening “at home”, Reinhardt laid in a supply of raw meat and left it on the counter where they could easily reach it. 

In anticipation of food-borne disease, the cleaning bots returned the meat to the refrigerator. The wolves could smell it, but even as accessible as the refrigerator was designed to be, it was not meant to open for paws. 

Angela trailed in after them and quickly realized the problem. 

“Here, I’ll get that for you--” she said, moving towards the fridge. 

But McCree got there first, and to her surprise he reared back and balanced on his hind legs. His upper body cracked and shifted further, becoming more human until he could reach out and grab the fridge door with something very much like his own hand. He opened it, pulled out the platter of meat, and set it down for the black wolf before sitting down to eat as well. 

Angela recovered from her shock and put her hands on her hips. 

“Jesse McCree, how dare you not tell me your condition advanced!” she demanded. “How long has it been since you reached stage two? Oh,  _ Jesse _ ...”

The red wolf sat up from his meal and deliberately rolled his eyes.  

“Do not pretend you can’t understand me!” she chided. “I should have put you on extra vitamins ages ago-- oh, you _ absolutely  _ must stop drinking! Your liver--!”

McCree huffed again, got up, and padded over to her. Even seated, his head came up almost to her shoulder, and when he leaned into her it very nearly knocked her over. 

“It’s too late to suck up to me now,” she said. “I’m very cross with you.” 

On McCree’s soft whine, the black wolf likewise abandoned his meal, coming to his packmate’s side and sandwiching the red between himself and the doctor. The combined weight of both wolves was enough to topple her, and she took a moment to catch her breath, buried beneath warm fur. 

“Off, both of you,” she shoved at McCree, who refused to move. Black’s ears perked, then flattened again as she scowled. “And you! I am not your couch!” 

The black wolf nuzzled closer to McCree, yawning. Angela struggled to extract herself, glaring the entire time. 

“You are not sleeping in the kitchen, you great brute. Come on. Get up. Back to your den. Behave, and I will let you have your exam in the afternoon. Cross me and I’ll schedule it for eight AM sharp!” 

McCree, for there was no longer any question about the very human intelligence behind the wolf’s eyes, let out such a heartfelt groan that the black wolf yelped and started checking his packmate for injury. McCree levered himself to his feet and slunk back towards his room, tail tucked and ears drooping, until Black bounded after him and rubbed shoulders with him. 

Angela watched them go and sighed. She was going to need to order more supplies. 

 

Hanzo woke up warm and naked, which wasn’t that unusual for the last few months. McCree’s arm was wrapped around him, holding him close and sleepily petting his hair; this, too, was not unusual. They were in what smelled like McCree’s bed; this was highly unusual, and the realization made Hanzo go tense. 

“Too early,” rumbled McCree, almost below the range of human hearing. “Stay.” 

“McCree,” said Hanzo. 

“Sleep. Stay a little longer.” McCree nuzzled into the back of Hanzo’s neck, sending a frisson all the way up from Hanzo’s collarbone to his crown. 

“McCree!” he snapped. “It is morning!” Late morning, from the way sunlight slanted through the window. 

McCree’s arm slipped away, allowing Hanzo to scramble to freedom. He took the sheets with him, a tactical move which gave him some cover but left McCree entirely bare. There was no ignoring the acres of bronzed skin, scarred and freckled and stretched over muscle and sinew. Hanzo’s mouth went dry; at least McCree had slipped onto his stomach. 

Sleepy golden eyes blinked up at him with the unconcerned tranquility of a sated predator. McCree hummed softly, then nuzzled into the pillows where Hanzo had lain, apparently returning to sleep. 

Hanzo stared for a moment, trying to decide if it was safe to move. Fate had other plans, and just as he began to inch towards the door, Angela began to bang on it from the other side. 

“Jesse McCree!” she yelled. “Jesse McCree, open this door!” 

McCree groaned deep enough that it sounded like a growl. He dragged the closest pillow over his head. 

“Pack only!” he barked. “This is our den! You got your own!” 

Hanzo felt heat crawling up the back of his neck for no reason he cared to put to words. 

“Jesse McCree, you will open this door,” said Angela in an awfully calm voice, “or I will use medical override to open it for you.” 

McCree groaned again and sat up. His time under the pillow left his hair mussed, standing up in unruly waves. He squinted at the door, then at Hanzo, then at his own nakedness. 

“I ain’t got pants on,” he grumbled, “and Hanzo took all the blankets.”

“I sewed you up after the Madagascar Incident. I have seen it all before,” she replied. 

McCree grumbled unintelligibly, then sighed. 

“A’ight, Athena, let her in.” He ran a hand through his messy hair. This had the unfortunate side effect of flexing his pecs. Hanzo nearly swallowed his tongue. 

The barracks door slid open, and Angela strode in with a look fit to skin a wolf.

“When did you develop into Stage Two?” she demanded. “How far along are you?” 

Jesse licked his lips and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He glanced up to Hanzo. He sighed. 

“I dunno, sometime after I left,” he grumbled. “I ain’t at stage three yet; I’ve been handling it…” 

Hanzo had a sudden moment of  _ deja vu _ which proved to be sharply accurate as Mercy voiced the very doubt that came to his mind: 

“With what, alcohol?” 

McCree mumbled incomprehensibly and laid back down on his stomach. 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” he whined. “I ain’t caused anybody trouble.” 

“HA!” The laugh escaped Hanzo completely unintentionally, and he slapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Betrayed by my own pack,” McCree sighed. 

An icy knife dropped straight through Hanzo’s amusement. 

“We are not  _ pack _ ,” he snapped, only to then be swallowed by an instantaneous and instinctual guilt, the magnitude of accidentally kicking a loyal dog. The psychological trap only tightened as McCree turned wide, wounded eyes on him. Hanzo backtracked desperately, floundering for anything to take the heartbroken expression off McCree’s face. For perhaps the first time in his adult life, he could not put together a sentence that served his purpose. “I mean-- We-- As we are now-- We are not a pack-- I am not-- You are--  _ We _ are--” Another word bubbled up in the rapids of his babble, and by some miracle he plucked it from the chaos before it could reach his lips. “ _ \-- mates.”  _ Now there was the wrong word for the situation. “Friends?” He finished awkwardly. 

It seemed to satisfy McCree, who started to settle back into his bed, but Angela marched over and grabbed him by the arm. 

“You aren’t getting out of this so easily,” she said. “Your dietary needs are different now, and I know you haven’t been minding what you eat!” 

“Is it so serious?” Hanzo asked, thinking back to the limited research he did when he first learned he was infected. There was a lot of information on stage one of the disease, but less than a quarter of the infected made it to stage two, and most documents after that point were medical journals. Hanzo was smart enough, but he was no biologist. 

Angela sighed, and Jesse burrowed back under the pillows. 

“Normally, no, because most people,” here she prodded him again, “are not so stubborn. His wolf instincts will tell him he needs more meat, but to properly sustain the human body he still needs to eat vegetables and other foods.  _ Healthy _ foods.” 

Hanzo tried to remember the last time he’d ever even seen McCree eat a salad. The mental image was laughable at best and completely fabricated on top of that. A surge of protective fury built up below his sternum though he tramped it down before he could do more than scowl. 

“I will make sure he eats correctly,” he said. 

For the first time, Angela smiled at Hanzo. 

“Would you? Thank you.” She relaxed slightly and turned back to McCree. “It’s good for him to have a pack again.” 

Hanzo tried to protest again, but all his words had tumbled out earlier, and without them he ended up closing his mouth. She straightened up. 

“I’ll prescribe some vitamins to help catch up with whatever he’s managed to miss so far. Please make sure he takes them.” 

Angela walked out, and Hanzo was left with the feeling that he’d somehow been duped. He pulled the blankets closer around himself and wondered slightly about the warm, fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Huh. Pack.” 

 

The bottle of vitamins showed up the next day in his locker alongside a handwritten note from Angela:  _ Two per day. You should take one also. _

There was a little smiley face with a sloppy halo and cartoon wings. Hanzo tried not to be endeared and, failing that, put the surge of affection to the back of his mind. 

If he kept an extra close eye on her in their missions, targeting with extreme vengeance those who attacked their healer, well, that was just good tactics. 

If the black wolf wagged his tail and let her scratch him behind the ears, well. Hanzo had no say in that at all. 

 

The wolves stayed on base throughout the winter, spending their time in McCree’s “den” or the training room where they could stretch their legs. Few of their teammates followed them; Reinhardt brought food, Angela checked them over, and Lena occasionally came to run laps with them, but the others kept their distance. It wasn’t that the wolves were aggressive towards them, but rather that they got over excited with more people around, and they were too large to manage much delicacy. 

Somehow it was two more months before Genji properly saw the wolf his brother became. He ran into them quite by accident, returning from a delayed mission and slipping into the kitchen for a cup of tea to ease his weariness before bed. He had, in the exhaustion of post-mission cool-down, forgotten the moon cycle, and was surprised to see two wolves watching him intently as he walked in the door. 

The red was calm, sitting upright and with perked ears. The black, however… 

The black wolf’s ears pinned back as he lowered himself awkwardly to the floor. Golden eyes stayed lock on Genji, and the bushy tail wagged slowly, in jerky twitches. The wolf whined softly and crawled forward on his belly. 

Genji froze. The brother of his memories would never debase himself or show such submission. Even with Genji’s blade at his throat, he’d arched his back to let his skin kiss the blade, ready to steal death if it was not granted fast enough for his liking. The black wolf’s body language was completely different-- shame and elation holding him low and wiggling simultaneously-- and yet there was that familiar gesture. The wolf whined and rolled onto his side, tail going still as he exposed his throat. 

Hanzo’s words from their reunion in Hanamura came back to haunt Genji’s ears: “ _ Do it then. Kill me. _ ” Suddenly, he wished he had not given his brother so much space to deal with his transition as he joined Overwatch. 

“Hanzo, no!” Genji cried, lunging for the black wolf. McCree growled and leapt, but Genji was faster, and he wrapped his arms around his brother’s chest and pulled him to his feet. The black wolf did not even so much as flinch when Genji darted towards him, but once embraced he started to wiggle again, rubbing at Genji’s hands like an excited puppy. 

McCree snorted and huffed, appeased that Genji did not intend to take his packmate up on his offer. Genji ran his hands through black fur and breathed a sigh of relief 

“How could you even think that?” Genji chided. “I thought I made it clear? I want you to live, Hanzo. Live and heal, as I have.” 

If the black wolf understood, he gave no indication. Instead, he nudged and pushed and outright bullied Genji over to the plates of raw meat Reinhardt had left them. The wolf sat on his haunches and, with an imperious look that was definitely Hanzo’s, nodded towards the plate. Genji felt the surreality of the situation creeping up on him. He was also fairly certain McCree was laughing at him. 

“Hanzo, no.” Genji protested. Hanzo gave him another firm nudge, then padded around to the other side and nosed the plate closer. “I can’t eat that! Hanzo!” The black wolf’s ears flattened, and he gave a frustrated whine-growl. 

McCree was definitely laughing at them, and he stood up, shifting to bipedal form as he did. In that stage, he was nearly as tall as Reinhardt in his armor, and he could easily reach the top cabinet where Genji stashed his favorite snacks. He pulled down a few boxes. Hanzo barked excitedly. Genji sighed. 

“You could at least pretend they were still a secret,” he groaned. McCree handed him a box of chocolate-filled cookies shaped like Pachimari. Genji dutifully ate a handful of cookies under Hanzo’s watchful eyes as McCree settled back on the floor in a sprawl. 

“Are you satisfied? Can I go?” Genji asked, half sarcastically. The black wolf responded by tackling him, pinning him in a wolf sandwich. “Hanzo!” 

“Let him play,” growled McCree. The muzzle tangled his honey drawl. “You’re pack. You’re home now.” 

The black wolf grinned, tongue lolling, entirely too pleased with himself. The cybernetics gave Genji strength enough that he could have pushed the wolf off, but Hanzo growled and bared his fangs every time Genji tried to get up. 

“I’m not sleeping on the floor,” said Genji. The black wolf yawned. 

 

Sometime later, Genji blinked awake and realized he had, in fact, fallen asleep on the kitchen floor. His spine and lower back, though mostly synthetic, expressed distinct displeasure with this life choice and made their complaints louder as the two wolves suddenly crawled away from him, shaking. 

“Hanzo?” Genji said, watching the black wolf stumble and whine. His hackles were raised, and his paws kept slipping from underneath him. “Hanzo, are you alright?” The black wolf tried to growl and trailed off in little wheezes. On the other side, the red wolf changed with cinematic ease, heaving himself up on his hind legs, through the hybrid form, before settling into Jesse McCree’s familiar shape. Both Genji and Jesse came to the black wolf’s side, catching him before he could fall when his forelegs crumpled under him. 

“Here now, what’s all this about?” Jesse asked in a low, soothing manner. It was the voice of someone trying to calm an animal-- his actual words were inconsequential, and only the tone mattered. “C’mon, Hanzo, what are you doing here? Are you trying to fight your change? Can’t keep doing that, you know. You’ll pull something, maybe even dislocate a limb if you’re not careful. That ain’t any fun to shift through, let me tell you.” 

“Brother? What’s wrong?” Genji yelped as the black wolf all but collapsed on him. A wolf muzzle was not made for human words, but neither was a single mind meant to be divided between two sets of instincts. 

“Gen… Genji…  _ pack _ … Brother…” The wolf shuddered, and a joint cracked. McCree hissed a curse and grabbed at him to keep him from thrashing. 

“Your pack is fine,” he growled. “It’s you who’s worrying the pack.” Hanzo choked on an answering growl as his throat tried to change shape around it. 

“No…” he mumbled, and what came after was unintelligible to human ears, but McCree seemed to understand.

“You won’t lose him,” McCree assured him, taking a paw in hand and massaging out the digits to proper fingers. “He’s not going anywhere. He’ll still be your pack, even when you’re human.” 

The wolf whined a bit more, this time with a decisive headbutt at Genji’s cybernetic hand, but the canine traits faded away, leaving Hanzo panting for breath on the kitchen floor. His dazed gaze flickered over Genji, then McCree, and finally rolled back as he passed out. 

“Hanzo!” Genji cried out. Receiving no answer, he turned to McCree. “What happened? Is it always like this for him?” 

“He’s still in stage one,” McCree sighed. “Locked into a lunar cycle, you know? But by the looks of it, he didn’t want to shift back.” 

“I thought he hated the change?” 

“Seems so, but…” McCree pursed his lips. One hand ran through Hanzo’s mussed hair. 

“But?” 

“But things are a lot simpler when we’re wolves, and it might be he’s only really convinced you’re back and want him here when he’s like that. Might be the only way he  _ can _ accept that, without overthinking it.” McCree gave Genji a rueful smile. “If you finally felt some peace, wouldn’t you hold on to it any way you could?” 

Genji thought about Zenyatta, whose patience had led him to respite, and his brother, who was a feverish weight in his arms. Hanzo’s face smoothed out in his sleep, making him look younger, softer. Genji thought of the scowl that his brother would make were anyone to tell him that. 

“Let’s take him to the medical ward,” Genji said. “He needs healing.” 

“Needs a good bit more than that,” muttered McCree, but he helped Genji lift the unconscious man and ushered him towards the med bay. 

Hanzo registered the lack of heat first. It wasn’t that the room was cold or that he lacked sufficient covering; alas, he was getting far too used to waking up outside and naked. It was that he usually woke up from full moon times engulfed in the heat McCree put out. The man was a furnace; if scientists could but harness that power, no one would ever need to be cold again. The temperature-controlled climate and generically stiff mattress of the med ward seemed utterly alien in comparison to the warm, comfortable embrace of McCree’s arms. 

Panic ignited through the haze of exhaustion. Where was his pack? Were they safe? Were they well? Had he been taken or left behind--?

He sat up abruptly with a cry, startling Genji and McCree beside him. 

Genji yelled in Japanese. McCree yelled in Spanish. Hanzo just yelled, human vocal cords incapable of making lupine nuances. 

“What’s wrong? Brother?” Genji grabbed Hanzo’s arm, but Hanzo jerked back. His breathing came in harsh pants, and he backed up against the railing of the bed with wide eyes. 

“Shhh,” McCree held up both hands. His voice dropped down to the same even pitch from earlier in the morning, and to Genji’s surprised, he could see it working on Hanzo’s tension. “It’s fine. Everyone’s fine. You pulled a few muscles during the change. Managed to dislocate your shoulder. Can you feel it when you breathe? That little bit of a hitch where you inhale? That’s the lingering ache. Angie wanted you conscious before she administered more biotics. Okay? You with us?” 

Hanzo nodded slowly, letting his head fall forward and his hair veil his face. Genji watched his brother’s composure reconstruct from the wasteland of panic, brick by brick, and when Hanzo finally looked up again it was with the cold, sharp mien he’d worn for so much of their lives. It made something uneasy coil in Genji’s belly and scratch at his heart. 

“My apologies,” said Hanzo. His voice rasped as if he had been shouting. “I did not mean to inconvenience anyone.” 

“No inconvenience,” McCree replied, so lightly that it had to be true. “I’m going to check you over real quick, alright?” He reached out slowly enough that Hanzo could have batted him away or told him off, but Hanzo did not object. McCree’s hands were gentle and open. Carefully, oh so carefully, he rubbed Hanzo’s neck, back, and arms, tested the range of motion in his shoulders, and checked for even the most minute flicker of pain in his face. 

“Looks like you’re good to go, darling. Just let Angie give you one more dose to get you up to snuff before you sneak out A.M.A., alright?” Hanzo nodded. His gaze stayed focused on a point on the wall behind McCree and Genji. He was the picture of formality, and Genji suddenly wanted to scream at him to see if he could startle his brother out of his coldness. To see if he could make Hanzo  _ look _ at him. 

“Brother,” he said, and Hanzo’s eyes snapped towards him. It was a small comfort; the monthly transformation rejuvenated Hanzo, but cracks still showed under scrutiny, and now that Genji was looking he could see nothing else. 

Hanzo scowled as the silence drew out and Genji said nothing. 

“What?” he snapped. 

“Do you… not remember your time as a wolf?” 

A flurry of emotions crossed Hanzo’s face in rapid succession.

“What is there to remember about becoming a mindless beast?” he settled on dismissive disgust. McCree prodded him in the ribs. To Genji’s surprise, Hanzo did not slap McCree’s hand away. He huffed, flinched, and bared his teeth briefly, but that was his only reaction. 

“Hanzo?” Genji tried again. Hanzo sighed.  

“I remember very little,” he admitted. “Mostly, it feels like a dream, and it fades the longer I am awake.” 

“Then… you do not remember last night?” 

“No. Why? Did I hurt someone--?” the color abruptly drained from Hanzo’s face. 

“No, no!” Genji assured him. “You were very well behaved. Considerate, even.” 

Hanzo scowled, trying to make sense of Genji’s words. Genji could tell when the memory started to coalesce because the angry set of his brother’s eyebrows suddenly lifted to befuddlement and disbelief. 

Human Hanzo had more pride than his wolf-self, and he would not even look away, though misery was written clear on his face. 

“Do you remember?” Genji asked again. 

“I remember offering my throat so you could finish what was started when we last met in Hanamura,” said Hanzo. Beside him, McCree tensed, not unlike an animal raising their hackles. 

“And do you remember what I said? 

“I presume you said no, since I am still sitting here.” Hanzo’s mutter sounded indignant, as if Genji’s forgiveness and acceptance not only offended him, but reduced him to the petulance of a five-year-old child. 

“I brought you here to heal, brother.” 

“There is no healing from this. It is a lifelong condition.” 

“I meant your guilt, not the lycanthropy.” 

“As did I.” 

The two brothers stared silently. An entire conversation played out in the stillness, one of sharp jabs and cutting retorts that needed no airing to impact their targets. Like swordsmen of old, they held their battle before their blades were even drawn, and if the moment was not interrupted, it would arrive in terrible, sharp edges.  

McCree whined softly. The sound was high and vaguely canine, and it sparked something else in Hanzo’s memory.

“Your vitamins!” he cried, trying to climb out of the bed. 

“Angie already dosed me, darling. You’re in the clear.” McCree settled a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and pushed him back to the bed. To Genji’s surprise, Hanzo went easily despite the frown on his face. 

“I will ask Dr. Zeigler that for myself when she arrives,” he growled. “You have made that play before.” 

Jesse barked a laugh. “Scout’s honor,” he said, raising a hand. Hanzo glared. 

“I am on to you, McCree.” 

Genji felt a sudden twist of jealousy. How could McCree have so easily slipped behind his brother’s defenses when Genji could not? The answers were clear, simple, and obvious: McCree was pack. McCree had none of the special Shimada-brand baggage. McCree was, in his own way, open and honest enough that Hanzo trusted him. 

McCree was pack, and Genji was… not. 

Except… the wolf accepted Genji as part of the pack. The wolf had not wanted to change back for fear of this very outcome. And, as Jesse pointed out… the wolf was Hanzo, perhaps the truest part of him. 

 

Angela came in the room just then, and Hanzo broke away from the subtle camaraderie he’d had with McCree. McCree took it with his usual stoicism, but he stood up and intercepted Angela before she could start fussing over Hanzo’s vitals. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, and his voice was deep and rough as he carefully navigated German pronunciation. 

Genji knew enough to recognize the words in McCree’s growl-- “ _ He’s on the edge of stage two--” _ but not enough to catch Angela’s frustrated mutter back. She huffed, turned her frown on Hanzo, and focused on his chart. Hanzo flustered under her glare and looked to McCree for an explanation. Upon receiving only a nod, Hanzo turned to the next most likely source of answers. Genji was surprised and pleased to realize that was him. 

“How do you feel?” Genji asked him instead. Hanzo’s eyes narrowed at the deflection. 

“I would like to leave medical and return to training,” he said. “Why? What did she say?” 

“I don’t know,” Genji admitted. “I can’t tell when she mutters like this.” 

“You’re doing well enough so far,” Angela said, “but I would like to give you another dose of biotics, and to start you on vitamin supplements as well.” 

“What? Why?” Hanzo scowled. 

“If you’re having difficulties in shifting, it may be due to nutrient deficiencies,” she said. “Lycanthropy comes with accelerated regenerative properties to accommodate the change, but you can’t build something from nothing, you know. Alternatively, your condition is advancing, and it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you’re in the peak of health if that’s the case.” 

“Advancing?” Hanzo’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. 

“A perfectly natural occurrence,” she answered him. She brought over a bottle of the same type of vitamins she prescribed McCree. “It’s actually a very good sign.” 

“I fail to see how,” he muttered. 

“It means you are in a stable and healthy enough environment that your body is able to continue processing,” she replied sharply. “Of that percentage who reach stage two, the majority of them are in packs, which reduces stress and promotes a healthier lifestyle all around. Reinhardt’s family had a few who even reached stage three. They lived to a ripe old age and passed on quietly in their sleep, if I recall.” 

McCree cleared his throat. 

“I don’t really see that as a likely probability in our line of work, Angie,” he said awkwardly. 

“Why not?” She rapped her knuckles on the brim of his hat. “I’ve got you, and I intend to keep all of you around for a very long time. It’s every doctor’s dream that her patients should not need them.” 

Hanzo and McCree exchanged looks. Hanzo’s said, “can you believe this?” and McCree’s said, “you got us into this.” 

Genji watched. 

So this was “pack”...

 

Once Hanzo finally managed to escape the medical ward, he only made a brief detour by his room before he headed for the training hall. Genji knew his brother spent only seventeen minutes cleaning up and changing clothes because he caught him in the hall on the way there. He fell into step with Hanzo as easily as if they had spent the last several months training together instead of Genji hesitating over the constant storm of Hanzo’s poor mood. Tellingly, McCree joined them not long after, easily keeping pace. McCree had a lunch sack in his hands, and he passed it to Hanzo without even looking. Hanzo grumbled but accepted it anyway; he immediately pulled out two bananas, cracked them apart at the stem, and handed one back to McCree, who wrinkled his nose. 

“You joining us today, partner?” McCree asked Genji. Hanzo caught his deflection and nudged the arm holding the banana. McCree grunted and peeled it. He took a bite. Somehow he managed to eloquently express, “are you happy now” with just the set of his eyes and the lifting of a single eyebrow. Hanzo just as wordlessly communicated smug-bastard levels of “yes, I am.” 

Interesting, thought Genji. He wondered if they consciously realized what they were doing. 

“It has been a long time since I have sparred with either of you,” he said. “I would not pass up the opportunity.” 

Hanzo tensed; his even stride faltered momentarily as color drained from his face. If McCree noticed, he didn’t say anything. Genji doubted that it escaped the gunslinger’s sight. Few things did. 

They stepped into the training room. Hanzo threw away the rest of his banana. It was only half-eaten. McCree hummed thoughtfully. Genji watched as he tinkered with the settings on the training simulator. 

“Co-op or Versus?” asked McCree. 

“Co-op,” said Hanzo. 

“Versus,” said Genji. 

Hanzo made a little noise-- the bare minimum of sound, just the softest inhalation-- and Genji looked at him. 

“Co-op,” said Genji.

“Versus,” said Hanzo. 

The  brothers exchanged annoyed glares. 

“Well, with this kind of dialogue, we obviously need the practice.” McCree set it to co-op with a laugh. “I’ll start us off on easy mode.” 

Despite their comparatively short acquaintance, McCree read Hanzo as easily as Genji did. He clearly interpreted the subtle shift of weight and tension as frustration with the lowered difficulty and, simultaneously, acknowledgement of the reasoning behind it. His only response was a subtle brush of shoulders as he walked into the active area, a companionable bump like their wolf-selves shared. 

At first, Genji hung back, carefully watching the dynamic between his brother and his friend. It was odd to see them in combat; Genji frequently scouted ahead and didn’t get to observe the others. Hanzo and McCree did not seem to communicate, and yet they worked together near-seamlessly. Hanzo seemed to have an eye for where McCree’s shots would fall, and they never aimed for the same target unless it was large enough that neither of them could defeat it on their own. McCree, in return, kept a wide, weaving trail, one that Genji realized was designed to keep Hanzo’s gaze skimming over the map and to prevent people from being able to flank the sniper while he was occupied. 

Clever and cautious. 

 

“Did you intend to participate?” Hanzo asked archly, but without any real sense of censure. 

“I would not want to get in your way.” Genji teased back, and found himself grinning as Hanzo rolled his eyes. Training on easy was almost a game. Hanzo and McCree had a head start, but Genji was determined to catch up. Flinging himself into the fray in a manner that made Angela twitch from across the base, he quickly began racking up points of his own. Back and forth. Up and down. He lept over and under and around the training bots. Nothing amused him more than stealing a kill from under McCree’s nose. He stole four final blows before Hanzo took umbrage on McCree’s behalf and shot an arrow that pinned his scarf to the wall. 

They did not reach equilibrium that day, nor the day after, or even the day after that. There was too much between them to pass easily, and some days the familiar discord was preferable to the yawning void of the unknown that rested on the other side of reconciliation. But it was a journey they made, step by step, day by day. Sometimes McCree walked with them, tempering the sharp words and cooling hot tempers. Sometimes he did not, and the brothers rehashed their old arguments and found new ones to try out or discard. 

When the next full moon came around, Genji found himself more than a little anxious. Would Hanzo want him to hang around? They’d made great strides so far, but they still had a long way to go, and Hanzo was so touchy about his lycanthropy that Genji feared undoing all their progress by appearing flippant or dismissive of it. 

As evening approached and Hanzo retreated to his room, Genji resolved to leave him be. His brother obviously didn’t want company, and Genji was still learning exactly how far he could toe the line with his brother in their new disagreements. Then he thought better of it. Without prompting, Hanzo would never come to him. Joining Overwatch was as far as he could push himself, and even that might have been just another outlet for his idea of recompense-- paying in his own blood alongside that of others. 

Genji stepped out of his door, determined to find his brother, only to come face to face with the black wolf, who barreled towards him like a long-lost puppy. Two hundred pounds of apex predator landed on one hundred and eighty pounds of the world’s most advanced cybernetics. 

Nature (and momentum) won. 

Genji landed on his back with an amused wolf grinning down at him and another one close behind, chuckling. 

“I suppose this answers the question of whether you wished to see me.” He laughed and scratched the black wolf’s ruff. Hanzo, in turn, gnawed on the hard plate of Genji’s cybernetic forearm where his teeth could do no real harm. 

McCree just laughed at them both and nudged Hanzo until the black wolf finally turned on him, at which point he shepherded both the Shimada brothers into the kitchen. 

They made an odd procession: full-wolf Hanzo, half-wolf half-man McCree, and half-man half-machine Genji. McCree let Genji move the more breakable things out of the way, Genji let McCree handle all the meat. Hanzo preened; being the only one without opposable thumbs, he was unable to assist, and could only be waited on. Still, he didn’t move on the meat until McCree was beside him and Genji was munching exasperatedly on his cookies. 

“You know, I ate dinner,” Genji said. Hanzo ignored him in favor of the beef. “You were even there. You said I shouldn’t have so many carbs.” 

Hanzo huffed but didn’t stop eating. 

Genji sighed and glared at McCree. 

“And you, encouraging him!” 

McCree grinned. Genji set the box on the counter. Hanzo growled. 

“Seriously?!” Despite the frustration, Genji couldn’t help but be amused, even pleased. What a strange version of family dinner they had! He wasn’t allowed to put the box away until both wolves finished their meal. Hanzo’s senses were just as keen as a wolf, but fortunately for Genji’s digestion, he was a lot easier to fool, too. Genji managed to use sleight of hand to “eat” the same cookie several times before the black wolf decided it was time for the pack to return to the den. 

Genji had been in Hanzo’s room before, but not often, and not recently. Their early forays into reconciliation had been stilted at best and caustic at worst; Genji would attempt to talk about the past, and Hanzo would grow bitter and annoyed. Any attempts to talk about the present, and Hanzo clammed up, a byproduct Genji now realized of his attempts to hide his lycanthropy. Genji had eventually stopped pushing, deciding discretion was the better part of valor, and that he could resume his campaign once Hanzo settled in more. 

That time had apparently come. 

 

There was little in Hanzo’s room that was not a weapon or some piece of gear. His years on the run left him disinclined towards keeping physical remnants of his travels beyond scars. It left a subtle ache in Genji’s chest to see bare walls and empty shelves while remembering the posters, scrolls, and little trinkets Hanzo collected in their youth. 

The black wolf herded his pack inside, and proceeded to curl up next to McCree, who clumsily petted him. Rather than try to sneak out while Hanzo drifted to sleep, Genji settled nearby and fixed McCree with a stare. 

“So…” he said. “Which of you is the alpha?” 

McCree almost choked. The sudden movement jolted Hanzo out of his nap. 

“You can’t just ask a question like that,” McCree growled. 

“Was that rude? I apologize. I am confused because Hanzo is so inherently bossy, I wondered if it manifested when he was a wolf as well.” Genji said. McCree snorted. If Hanzo understood, he gave no indication, but instead settled back against McCree’s side. 

“It’s like asking who tops,” McCree replied, “and we ain’t that kind of pack.” Deep wistfulness welled up in his tone. Hanzo didn’t even twitch. Genji gave McCree a glare. 

“Are we going to need to have a  _ talk _ ?” 

But McCree just shook his shaggy head. If it was possible to look sheepish with a wolf’s face, he did. 

“I know the lay of the land,” he said. “Doubt that it’ll ever be an issue.” 

Genji made the “watching you” gesture anyway, because Hanzo stretched out so that he lay fully against McCree’s flank. 

 

Somewhere between blinks, night faded and morning crept up again. McCree shifted as easily as he always did, but once more Hanzo fought with his inner wolf, and his change dragged out painfully. 

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be stubborn,” McCree murmured, one hand on Hanzo’s shaking back. “We’ll have to take you back to Angie if you throw your shoulder out again.” 

“Brother, please, it’s all right,” Genji added. “Do not harm yourself.” 

This time Hanzo did not garble a reply in any human tongue, but instead reached out with mostly human arms and embraced his brother. Genji immediately hugged him back, murmuring low encouragements as he’d seen McCree do. The traces of the wolf faded away, and Hanzo held on a moment longer before awkwardly pushing back. 

“My apologies,” he grunted. “I appear to have very poor self-control in my wolf form, to have dragged you both here and--” Genji interrupted him with another hug. 

“This was fun,” he said, “but perhaps in the future you could get a large pillow for the floor? It’s not very comfortable after a while.” 

Hanzo reared back, affronted. 

“Certainly not!” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how much we shed? I will be spending all my free time trying to get rid of the fur!” 

Jesse burst out laughing. 


	3. McCree

Stage two was largely anticlimactic for Hanzo. One minute he was in wolf-shape, rough housing with Genji as usual, the next he was bipedal and had his brother in a headlock. 

“Damn!” Genji hissed. “I was counting on you not having manual dexterity!” Hanzo chuckled, and from the sidelines McCree offered clumsy applause. 

“Should have known old dogs can learn new tricks,” McCree growled. 

“If only you could learn to take your vitamins,” Hanzo sighed dramatically. McCree gasped and pawed at his heart as if fatally wounded, then rolled over and let his tongue loll. Hanzo chuckled, then laid down beside him, settling in for a nap as he had on previous nights. McCree’s canine face was ill-suited for the soft nuances of a human heart, but there was one it could do better: McCree gave Hanzo puppy dog eyes, warm and adoring. Hanzo didn’t notice, already asleep. 

Genji did. 

 

Four days after the full moon was plenty of time for the moment to fade from Jesse’s memory, so he was completely unprepared for Genji to ambush him. As unprepared as a lifelong criminal/black-ops agent could be, anyway. 

Genji dropped out of an air vent and fell into step by McCree as he left the mess hall. McCree, to his credit, registered the movement and managed to finish threat assessment before he finished drawing his gun-- a small span of time indeed. 

“What’d I tell you about pullin’ those tricks on me?” McCree said lightly. 

“Not to do it unless I wanted my ‘fool head’ blown off,” Genji answered equally lightly. “And what did I say to you in return?” 

“‘I’d like to see you try’.” McCree chuckled. “Playing with your life there, Genji.” 

“Aren’t we all?” Genji bumped into McCree’s shoulder, herding him away from his room. McCree raised an eyebrow but let himself be led; there wasn’t much point in trying to escape a man who could literally pop up anywhere, at any time.

Genji directed him towards a lovely little overlook on the south side of the base. McCree checked the wind direction and angled himself downwind before lighting his cigar. 

“So,” he said, closing his lighter with a loud  _ clack _ . “What’s on your mind?” 

“Did I ever thank you for taking Hanzo into your pack?” 

“Genji, you ain’t actually said “thank you” to me but once, when I snuck you that tequila after the Madagascar Incident.” McCree chuckled. “It’s fine, though. You show it in other ways, and I ain’t too fussed about words.” 

“Then please know that I am not ungrateful for your favors, but I must know your intentions towards my brother.” 

There was a long silent moment. McCree didn’t even smoke, he just let the cigar turn to ash in his hand. 

“We went over this, Genji. I ain’t got any.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s true.” McCree drew in a lungful of smoke and blew it out in a ring, watching it lazily fade into the sky. “You think I don’t know my own mind? Sure, I’m mighty fond of him. He’s pack. In another life, maybe…” He shrugged laconically and stared across the water. “But he ain’t interested, and I know better than to push my luck over thin ice.” 

“Not interested?” Genji blinked, suddenly beset by a montage of moments when Hanzo simply allowed McCree to share his space or actively sought the gunslinger’s company. True, his brother seemed to be blossoming in the healthy environment of the pack’s support, but such actions were still characteristic of a level of significant affection, at least as far as Hanzo was concerned. 

“It’s fine,” said McCree, and worse, he sounded as if it were completely true. “I got the pack. That’s all I need.” 

“So you intend to--” Genji flustered. 

“I  _ intend _ nothing,” McCree interrupted, just a hint of edge to his tone. “Nothing’s going to happen, and nothing needs to happen.” 

“But…” Genji protested, though he wasn’t sure why. 

McCree snorted and extinguished his cigar on the metal of his prosthetic. He turned to face Genji openly, spreading his arms wide. 

“Look at me, Genji. On what alien planet have I got anything to offer except my rugged good looks?” He scowled. “And don’t you take a crack at those while we’re on the subject.” 

“No, I--” Genji realized he’d taken the worst possible approach to the conversation and that there was no way to backtrack. McCree just shook his head and tucked the remainder of his cigar away for later. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. “If he ain’t figured it out by now, he ain’t ever gonna figure it out.” 

Genji felt the overwhelming urge to apologize, though he wasn’t entirely sure to whom or why.

True to his word, nothing changed in the following months. McCree’s behavior gave away nothing more of his affection for Hanzo, nor did he show any of the lovelorn signs Genji expected. There were no flinches. There was no tensing. No extra sighs and snuggles for warmth. Nor even, anymore, any looks of longing and adoration. There was just McCree, at Hanzo’s side as always, and the list of people who knew that was his way of expressing love had dwindled down to just Genji. The knowledge weighed on Genji as only someone else’s secret could. 

It came to a point where Genji found himself pulling Hanzo aside after training one afternoon. 

“You and McCree…” he started awkwardly, remembering how his poor beginning with McCree set the tone for the entire conversation. Hanzo only cocked his head to the side. 

“Yes?” he prompted when words failed to come. 

“You are…” 

“We are…?” 

“You know…” 

“Obviously not,” Hanzo raised an eyebrow, “or I would not have to keep asking you to finish the sentence.”

“Are you happy?” Genji blurted out. Hanzo’s ensuing attempt to keep face resulted in a complex and convoluted mixture of emotions, none of which were actually withheld. 

“I am not sure I understand the question,” he settled on saying. “Why and how would I know if McCree is happy? Being pack does not mean I can read his mind. Am I happy?” He sighed and turned away. “Sometimes. When I cannot help it.” 

“That’s not… I meant… Brother…” 

Hanzo shrugged and waved it off as if the topic meant nothing. Judging by the twist of emotions still lingering on his face, that was exactly not the case. 

“I told you, I came to make amends, not friends,” said Hanzo. “It was gracious of you to ask McCree to invite me into his pack. It was generous of him to accept, especially with your history. I will not push any further than the good grace that has been shown to me.” 

“But you could-- Hanzo, I want for you to be--” 

Hanzo held up a hand, cutting him off. 

“I have the pack. It is more than I expected or deserve, and I am content.” He turned away. “Now, let us review the session.” 

Despite Genji’s best efforts, Hanzo managed to redirect the conversation away from McCree at every turn. He had more practice, even in his exile, at deflection, and unlike Genji he had paid attention to their tutors. 

Genji would have happily locked them both in a closet until they talked out their misunderstandings of their significance in each other’s lives, but he knew all too well that the stubborn bastards would starve to death first. Or, more likely, pick the lock. He resolved that he would lure them into a mature conversation with the aid of alcohol. Lots of alcohol. An amount of alcohol that practically guaranteed the conversation would end up a completely different kind of mature, considering how loose their tongues would be. 

It wasn’t his best plan, but it was far from his worst. 

 

One of these days he was going to stop being surprised when his plans didn’t work out.

 

The mission itself went off without a hitch. The team got in and out of a northern, European Talon storehouse in record time, stole or sabotaged everything on site, downloaded dozens of terabytes of data, and suffered no casualties. Someone probably should have realized it was going too well. Halfway to the safehouse the storm hit, dropping the temperature instantly and pelting the area with freezing rain and hail. Even the advanced thrusters and expert skills of their pilot couldn’t entirely stabilize the flight, and everyone ended up buckled up in the back.

“Looks like I’m going to have to put her down, loves,” Lena said after a while. “We’ve got some pretty serious icing, and--” The ship suddenly rocked. The lights flickered and dimmed. 

“Warning. Starboard generators damaged,” said Athena. “Power failure imminent.” 

“I told them, I  _ told _ them this old tub was too old to go this far north,” Jesse muttered, gripping the safety frame. Lena was generous enough to ignore his cynicism. 

“Ah, looks like we’re going down a little faster than I thought. Well, hang on, everyone!” 

Snowblind, engines failing, surrounded by mountains and a thick forest below, there was little hope for the landing. It was a testament to Lena’s skills that they didn’t crash directly into a cliff-face. As it was, the ORCA jolted from several trees impacting it, each one releasing a horrible squeal of metal being sheared away. Another bone-jarring crunch-- the first skid of the vehicle’s underside with unforgiving stone. 

Hanzo barely had a moment to turn and meet Jesse’s despairing expression before yet another impact cracked open the floor at their feet. Cold air and snow rushed in, stinging their cheeks and eyes amidst the sparks of destroyed electronics. 

“Oh hell,” McCree said. “Han--” 

A fourth crash shattered the hull, and jagged mountainside tore the ORCA apart as it skidded across ice and stone and the dark chasm between the cliffs. Amidst the screams and shouts, Jesse heard his own voice call Hanzo’s name, and then… nothing. 

 

The cold tempted and taunted him. It lured him towards the darkness with promises of escape: from the pain, from the guilt, from the daily struggle that threatened to grind him to dust. But even blind, he heard the soft groan of a teammate--  _ Hanzo _ \-- and it pulled him back. 

McCree opened his eyes. In the dim glow of dying fires and frying tech, he saw Hanzo reaching for him. Some large chunks of debris gave them a little shelter from the worst of the wind, but the rest of the ship was nowhere in sight, and there was no sign of their other teammates. 

Just Hanzo, with blood streaming from a head wound and abrasions across his exposed torso from the rough landing. 

“McCree,” Hanzo croaked, crawling through the snow. “McCree, wake up. If you sleep…” 

“I’m awake,” Jesse groaned back. “I’m--” He struggled to sit up. Debris pressed heavily against his back, pinning him. 

Then Hanzo did something McCree hadn’t seen before: he smiled, openly and with relief. 

“You live.” And then he passed out. 

“Hanzo?” McCree called out. “Hanzo! Hey, Hanzo, wake-up! Take your own damn advice! We can still freeze, you know!” No response. “Athena? Lena? Reinhardt! Lúcio! Anyone?” The comm in his ear squealed and spat distortion. 

“Unable to connect to network,” said Athena. “Switching to Local Mode. Good evening, Agent McCree.”

“Athena, where the hell is everyone?” 

“Comm Network is down,” she said apologetically. “I cannot detect other signatures at this time. Signals may be jammed due to weather or geographic impediment.” 

“Fuck. You can’t even tell if they’re alive?” 

“Last uplink records indicate all team members to be alive and conscious, but that data is from before Local Mode was engaged.” 

“Goddamnit.” 

“Analyzing. Last recorded data from ORCA Node indicates Agent Lúcio activated a ‘Sound Barrier’ just before impact. This may have protected other agents from fatalities. It may also have destabilized the ship’s integrity, causing it to break apart rather than compact. Agents may be nearby. Estimated area of impact is theoretically within travel distance to the safehouse. Any local instances of my programming would direct survivors to this location. Please make your way to the southeast, Agent McCree. Last known coordinates--” 

“Yeah, there’s just one hitch in that plan, Athena.” Jesse groaned, trying to push himself upright again. Metal shrieked above him, and he collapsed with a groan. 

“What seems to be the problem, Agent McCree?” 

“I’m trapped in debris and Hanzo is out in the cold, face down in the snow.” 

“Ah.” There was a brief pause. “That does dramatically decrease the probability of survival.” 

“I know I’ll regret asking, but where exactly do we stand?” 

“You have a seventeen-percent chance, barring Agent Shimada’s miraculous awakening.” 

“That good, huh?” 

“If it were anyone but you, Agent McCree, the probability would be even lower, but your unpredictable luck makes it difficult to assess hard numbers.” She sounded more than a little annoyed with him, which Jesse thought was patently unfair. He was the one that was going to freeze to death. The cold crept up his limbs and into his lungs as he drew short, sharp breaths. 

“I appreciate your faith, darling,” he said. “Wish I could live up to it.” 

“If you do not, Agent McCree, it will not only be you who suffers,” Athena reminded him. McCree struggled to open his eyes. Snow was beginning to catch in Hanzo’s dark hair. He was so still. So very, very still… 

If he couldn’t find a way to get Hanzo out of the snow, he’d never get to see him smile again. They’d never share another drink, or chat under the stars, or try to one-up each other in training sims. He’d never be able to-- Hanzo wouldn’t… 

Hanzo wouldn’t get to keep repairing his relationship with Genji. Wouldn’t get a chance to really live for himself, taste early morning coffee for no reason other than he wanted to, have cake for breakfast because McCree knew he liked sweets and was just enough of a bastard to leave an unmarked plate in the fridge where he knew Hanzo would see it. 

They’d never meet in the moonlight again. 

 

McCree’s heart clenched. 

His pack needed him. 

_ Hanzo  _ needed him. 

 

In the dark, snow-filled night, debris moved, and a wolf howled. 

  
  


Hanzo woke to warmth. The heavy, thick scent of some kind of animal filled his nose as he breathed in, afternotes of smoke and blood causing his heart to jump a little as his brain reminded him that neither scent was associated with safety. He tried to move and felt deep, dizzying aches from a dozen wounds still healing. 

“Don’t,” growled a low, familiar voice. Hanzo felt the reverberations beside his head. “You were roughed up… pretty badly. Gonna need… more time to heal… Even… even we…” the odd breaks in McCree’s rhythm only served to startle Hanzo worse, but he was too weak to fight his way free. He was, he realized, being carried, cradled in McCree’s arms like a child. Only… McCree wasn’t so much bigger than him that such a position should be possible… unless… 

Hanzo cracked open an eye and found himself staring at a wall of fur. 

Well. That explained the animal smell. 

“McCree?” He managed to crane his neck to look up and up and up the long slope of McCree’s neck to his strong wolf’s jaw. “McCree, it is not the full moon.” 

McCree didn’t answer for a while, but only continued to stagger through the deep snow.

“Nope,” he said at last. 

“How are you--” Hanzo stopped. “Stage three?” 

McCree plodded on. Eventually, he said, “Yup.” 

“Are you all right?” 

“Don’t feel much… like rampaging ‘cross the countryside.” McCree snorted. Hanzo could tell from his tone that he was scowling, probably at the misconceptions Hanzo used to drag around. “Though that might be the weather.” 

“I meant from the crash.” Hanzo managed to reach up and touch McCree’s face. “Though I suppose this healed you?” 

McCree didn’t answer. Hanzo realized they were slowing down. 

“I did not see the others. Were you able to find them?” 

“No. Athena… can’t get a signal. Last known coordinates… placed us near the safehouse. Was… trying to make it there.” 

McCree’s breathing sounded harsh and ragged in the snowy silence. The pitch and sway of his pace lulled Hanzo’s weary mind, and for a moment he drifted in the warm comfort, but a sudden misstep jarred him back to full wakefulness. 

“McCree?” He called out again. There was no immediate response. “McCree!” The world tilted as McCree toppled into the snow, exhausted beyond keeping control of his shape, and his wolfish body shuddered and dwindled back into vulnerable human.

“Sorry,” McCree muttered. “Tried. So tired. Done what I could.” 

“McCree!” Hanzo scrambled to try and wrap around McCree’s exposed body. Jesse hampered his efforts by reaching up and pulling out his comm unit, pressing it into Hanzo’s hand. 

“Should be close,” he said. “Keep going southeast. Athena will send survivors there.” 

“What about you?” Hanzo shook McCree to try and get him to open his eyes. There was ice in his beard and his hair from where the heat of his wolf’s body melted the snow before the wind froze it again. That heat had protected Hanzo, but now Jesse had none of it, and the storm was making him pay for it. 

McCree turned the long, bare line of his throat to Hanzo like an act of permission. 

“You’re nearly there,” he sighed. “You can make it. Just… not carrying me.” 

“I will not leave you.” Hanzo pulled Jese closer to him, trying to impart warmth. “We are teammates. We are  _ pack _ .” 

“Hanzo…” Jesse sighed. “Hanzo, go. The snow…” 

“Stop rhyming. Save your strength. You did not leave me. I will not abandon you.” Lifting McCree wasn’t an ordeal of strength, but of balance and endurance. He could carry him, but it was cumbersome-- damn Jesse’s long legs-- and the deep snow sapped his stamina. Hanzo made it a good distance before his lungs began to burn. 

“Hanzo, please,” said Jesse. Hanzo had never heard him beg before. He wished he never had. “Didn’t get this far for your… stubborn ass to freeze on me…” The audacity of the man…

“If you have any thoughts about my ass, I Invite you to discuss them with me in a more comfortable environment!” Hanzo growled and took another step. The snow was up to his thighs. McCree’s feet dragged through it despite Hanzo’s efforts to keep him close. Could he heal from frostbite? He didn’t look like he had it yet, but there had to be a limit to the regenerative properties of a lycanthrope, and surely Jesse had already pushed them with his earlier stunt… 

“Would have liked that,” Jesse mumbled. “Could’ve been your mate.” 

Hanzo gritted his teeth and shuffled forward more. Muscle and bone ground together, determination forging through shock. Annoyance warmed him and settled in him like hot coals. 

“This is a fine time to say that!” He snapped. “If such a dalliance interested you, you should have said something long before now!” 

“Not… dalliance…” Jesse’s voice faded into a wheeze. “ _ Mates _ .” 

The coals flared into an inferno. Muscles bulged, blood rushed, and Hanzo saw the ground fall away as the cold faded from him. His body was his to control, not the moon’s. 

 

In the dark, snow-filled night, a wolf howled. 

 

In a tiny mountain cabin almost too small to fit a strike-team, Lena paced a hole in the floor while Lúcio and Reinhardt tried to feed the fire. 

“Sit down, Lena,” said Mei. “You are going to wear yourself out. Athena said that all her local versions would direct to this point. McCree and Hanzo will be here soon, I’m sure of it.” 

“Yeah, I bet you’re right.” Lena attempted a bright smile, but it cracked as the wind outside howled and rattled their safehouse. 

“They are wolves,” said Reinhardt. “No storm will stop them from returning to us.” 

“I just--” Lena wrung her hands. “I can’t believe the whole ship broke up like that. I’ve never had a landing that bad before!” 

“Never been ambushed by both a blizzard and a mountain at the same time either, I’ll bet.” Lúcio said. “You did good. Most of us are here and in one piece. Not your fault that visibility was non-existent.” 

Lena made a helpless noise, and the wind howled again. No, wait. That didn’t sound like the wind… 

“Is that…?” She moved to the door. 

“Full moon isn’t for another two weeks…” Mei frowned thoughtfully. 

 

There was another howl, this time much closer and definitely not the wind. 

“That sounded like… wolves?” Lena moved over to the window, trying to peer into the dark. 

“Do you think--” Lúcio perked up. 

Reinhardt did not hesitate. 

“Watch the fire!” He threw open the door and charged into the snow, throwing back his head and howling as best he could with human lungs. The answering howl only encouraged him, and he continued his vocal vigil over the storm as a shape separated from the night. 

In stage three, Hanzo’s bipedal wolf form was large enough to wrap McCree in both arms. He cradled him in the fur against his chest. Ice caked on Hanzo’s legs, tail and muzzle, but his core was warm, and so too was McCree. 

“Quick, this way.” Reinhardt forded through the snow to take the unconscious gunslinger. Hanzo bared his teeth reflexively. 

“Mine,” he growled. 

Reinhardt didn’t even flinch, but brushed snow off Hanzo’s shoulders and ushered him into the cabin with a hand on his back. 

“I’m sure he will be ecstatic to hear it once you both are warm again,” he said. Then, in an uncharacteristically quieter voice, he muttered, “It’s about damn time.” 

The burning drive that carried Hanzo through the blizzard guttered at the threshold, and when he collapsed inside he, too, was once more human and as exhausted as McCree. 

The rest of the team treated them for their exposure, though Hanzo honestly couldn’t have tracked their actions if his life depended on it. 

“You know, it’s not so bad,” Lúcio chirped, while the two most cynical members of the team were unconscious and couldn’t contradict him. “I mean, sure we lost the ORCA, but everyone survived, and we all made it to this nice cabin, and there’s even cocoa in the pantry. I got a feeling we’re going to be just fine.” 

A pleasant silence filled the small safehouse. Then, after a minute… 

“So… who’s going to tell Jack and Angela?” 


	4. Hanzo

In the warmth of the firelight, Hanzo opened his eyes and saw McCree staring back at him. Affection shone in black eyes like stars in the night. Jesse freed one hand from his cocoon of blankets and brushed his thumb over Hanzo’s cheekbone. 

“We made it,” he murmured. 

Hanzo smiled in agreement.

“We made it,” he said. 

“Darling,” said Jesse. 

“Mate?” smirked Hanzo, and he felt a jubilant rush as Jesse  _ blushed _ .

    “That too, if you like. I know I would.” 

“As would I.” 

“When we get home--”

“Jesse. ‘Home’ is with you.” He inched forward and kissed Jesse softly, mindful of their need for recovery. “Welcome home.” 


End file.
